


Febuwhump 2021 No. 1

by Sapless_Tree



Series: MacGyver Febuwhump [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: (but shes also over the phone in another scene sooo), Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2021, Fever, Gen, Sick Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Sick Wilt Bozer (MacGyver 2016), Sickfic, Whump, Wilt Bozer (MacGyver 2016) Whump, bro why were there no bozer whump tags hm??, holy frick matty is actually there for a bit of it, not just over the phone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapless_Tree/pseuds/Sapless_Tree
Summary: Febuwhump No. 1 (ALT 6)Prompt: "don’t try to pin this on me"Mac retired the bottle to the coffee table before he could drop and spill it. He wrapped the comforter tighter around his shivering body, hoping to feel warmer. Intellectually, he knew he onlyfeltcold because he was feverish, but the comfort of having the warm blanket was enough to make him disregard the thought.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: MacGyver Febuwhump [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137668
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Febuwhump 2021 No. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, big inspired by [this post](https://ineedmysickfix.tumblr.com/post/622142085450104832/character-a-is-burning-with-a-fever-so-character-b). Let me know if the link isn't working for some reason!
> 
> Uh this one got away from me and ended up wayyyy longer than I meant for it to, oops

Flu season. It was arguably one of the worst times of the year, and while Jack had never really had much issue with the season himself, he’d learned to detest when that time of year came around and knocked Mac’s immune system for a loop. It was as if the blond hadn’t had enough to deal with, and the universe deemed it necessary to give him the immune system of a newborn foal on top of everything else. 

The season had hit particularly hard this time around, wiping out a good handful of the Phoenix's computer analysts, a number of lab techs, and several good field agents. Among them, Mac and Bozer had been sent home. Neither of them went without fuss, but between the lab techs being in such close quarters, and Mac and Bozer living together, it made sense that the two of them would be put out around the same time. 

Enough people had been sent home that Matty had to “loan” Riley out to another team for a mission that couldn’t wait. She was helping them from Phoenix, which made Jack feel better, but he still wasn’t very fond of her working with a team that didn’t have him in it. 

His whole team was out, and so with nothing else for him to do, Jack was stuck working through the mission reports that had been put off for some time. He’d tried to reason with Matty to let him go home and look after Mac and Bozer, but she wouldn’t go for it.

“Come on, Matty,” Jack said. “I just want to stop by there for a bit and make sure my nerds are doin’ okay. See if they need me to pick up meds or want me to fetch them some food or Gatorade.” 

“Jack,” Matty gave an exasperated sigh, “they can handle themselves. You’re not getting out of work just because Mac and Bozer are out sick. Riley’s doing what she was assigned to without argument, I don’t see why you can’t do the same.” 

“What if they need me?” Jack asked, thoughts of Mac and Bozer alone and suffering conjuring themselves up in his brain. “What if they need me and I’m not there?”

Jack could just imagine the two sick agents getting up to all kinds of trouble on their own, intentional or not. Mac could get squirrely when sick, and a little sloppy with his projects. What could Bozer do if a restless, bored, feverish MacGyver blew up the house while just as sick as the blond? And Bozer, he had his own tendency to mother Mac. Likely, he’d be trying to make the two of them soup and make sure they took their meds, bless him. But it would be easy for a disoriented Bozer to leave something burning on the stove or misread the medications. Just the thought of the two of them together, sick and unsupervised, was enough to give Jack grey hairs.

“Those reports need you,” Matty said. “Go take care of those. Really, Jack, we’re short-staffed here as it is, I can’t just send agents home if they don’t need to be sent home.”

“Matty--” 

“Get some work done,” she cut him off. “I know you’re worried, but they’re fine. Call them if you’re that nervous about it. I’m sure they’ll tell you the same thing.”

Jack knew he wouldn’t get her to budge on the matter, but he wasn’t so willing to give up either. “I’ll visit them on my lunch.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Fine,” she said, “if it’ll get you to get some work done, then fine. But you’d better get back here on time-- I don’t want to hear any excuses just because you think those boys need to be mother-henned. You’ll have plenty of time for that _after_ work.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Jack said, resignedly waving her off.

With that, Jack left Matty’s office to drown in boring documents and reports regarding mission accidents that Jack was sure were at least halfway Mac’s fault. And if he slipped a few texts in between working to Mac and Bozer, or snuck away to check in on how Riley was doing, no one said a word.

\---

Contrary to Jack’s worried beliefs, the two were doing all right on their own. Mac and Bozer lounged on the couch, a trash bin nearby and a few bottles of water on the coffee table. Maybe the worst of the mess were the tissues strewn about, a few stray cough drop wrappers, and an array of folded paperclip shapes. 

Bozer had turned on _The Chef Show_ \-- as an up-and-coming director himself and cooking enthusiast, Bozer was particularly inspired by Jon Favreau. Plus, he hoped that some of the advice coming from the TV would stick itself into Mac’s brain. Sort of like how when the two were in those awkward pre-teen years, Mac quietly played the audiobook version of _Fundamentals of Physics 10th edition Volume 1_ while he slept. Bozer would make a cook out of the blond yet. 

But maybe not today. Or any time that week, for that matter. Even putting aside Mac’s tendency to be a fire hazard in the kitchen, Bozer was sure neither one of them were up to trying to cook anything, let alone _stomach_ whatever came out of the mess they’d make together. 

No, the two of them were content to lay about and watch. Well, that was the case for a few hours, anyway. Mac had been bending another paperclip when he tossed it onto the coffee table with the others and stood suddenly.

“Man, where are you going?” Bozer called after Mac as he began to leave the room. He sat up a little straighter. “You better not be trying to do shit, because I swear to God Mac I’m too tired to stop you right now.”

Mac stopped and turned to Bozer, shivering. “I’m not,” he said with a hoarse cough. “I’m just getting the comforter from my bed. I’m freezing. You want anything while I’m up?”

Bozer relaxed back into the couch with a cough of his own. “A Gatorade? If we have any?”

“Sure.” 

Mac wandered to his room, the fever making everything feel a little dreamy and far away as he toed around the half-completed projects littering the room. He started them when he’d first felt like he was getting sick. Aware of it or not, Mac was almost more productive when beginning to come down with something-- as if his brain went on an automatic overdrive to try and compensate for the time it would inevitably have to spend resting. 

_Almost_ more productive.

Of course, his hands would get clumsy and so many things would race through his mind that it was difficult to focus on just one thought. Much like then-- he couldn’t even tell how long he’d been staring at the floor of his bedroom before his brain kicked in again. Blankets. Gatorade. Couch. 

Mac clutched the comforter and slowly slid it off the bed toward him. He wrapped the puffy thing around his shoulders and let it trail behind him on the floor as he meandered toward the kitchen. Opening the fridge, Mac pulled a Gatorade out, thought about it for a moment, and then grabbed one of his own.

He brought the drinks back over to the couch where Bozer had stayed and plopped down next to him, now thoroughly burritoed in the comforter. 

“Thanks,” Bozer said, accepting the bottle from Mac and taking a few swigs. “Jack texted while you were up.”

“Yeah?” Mac said, unscrewing his own Gatorade and taking a sip. “What’d he say?”

“Just checking up, making sure we’re okay. You know how he gets,” Bozer said fondly. Mac hummed-- oh, he knew. “I told him it’s all good here. Don’t want him worrying over nothing.”

Mac nodded, but didn’t say anything. His eyes were drooping and grip loosening on the bottle-- the walk to his room, the kitchen, and back must have tired him out more than he realized. Mac retired the bottle to the coffee table before he could drop and spill it. He wrapped the comforter tighter around his shivering body, hoping to feel warmer. Intellectually, he knew he only _felt_ cold because he was feverish, but the comfort of having the warm blanket was enough to make him disregard the thought.

“Think I’m gonna sleep,” Mac mumbled, eyes already falling closed as he settled himself in more securely against the armrest.

“Probably a good idea,” Bozer said, following with a harsh cough and another sip of the Gatorade. Bozer leaned over and made himself comfortable against Mac’s side; the comforter wrapped around the blond served to make him a bit better of a pillow than he usually was. Bozer’s body easily relaxed as he too let fatigue coast him to unconsciousness. 

They were granted maybe an hour of blissful sleep.

Bozer sat bolt-upright-- startling Mac awake (well, half-awake, anyway)-- and grasped the trash bin. He’d barely had it under his chin before he was vomiting. Mac reached a hand out of his cocoon to rub reassuringly at Bozer’s back, reassuring his friend through the next round of bile forcing its way up.

Mac finally sat up properly when the vomiting had tapered off to painful-sounding hacking and queasy hiccups. He continued to rub Bozer’s back.

“S’okay,” Mac said sleepily, biting back a yawn. “Just let it out.”

Bozer moaned thickly, hiccuping against another bout of nausea. Another fresh wave of sick spilled past his lips before he groaned again, feeling a little better-- about as settled as a seasick, pregnant lady, but better. 

“Think that’s all?” Mac asked. Bozer nodded mutely. Mac patted Bozer gently on the back, a silent reassurance that he’d take care of it. “Keep that, in case,” he said about the bin, “I’ll get you something to clean your face.”

“‘Kay. Thanks,” Bozer said, voice shaky and hoarse. Mac waved him off-- _don’t worry about it_ \-- but didn’t say anything as he began untangling himself from the comforter. 

Mac stood, swaying for a moment, before heading into the kitchen for some paper towels, dragging the blanket along with him.

Bozer moved to hold the bin of sick with one hand and snagged one of the waters off the table. It had already been drunk a third of the way, and after a few careful sips, Bozer was pretty sure it had been Mac’s water. Oh well, his now. There was more water in the fridge, anyway. Bozer closed his eyes, breathing against the nausea and trying to relax.

_Thud._

“Mac?” Bozer knew what that sound was right away-- the unmistakable sound of a limp body hitting the floor. “Didja trip?” No answer. “Mac, you okay?”

Bozer clutched the bin hard before setting off to the side, psyching himself up to moving. He peeled his eyes open and took another slow sip of the water, then set that down too. Bozer steeled himself with a careful breath and stood. 

As soon as he did, he wanted to sit right back down. The nausea he had still been battling off came back full-force, causing him to clutch the back of the couch just to stay upright.

The world shifted unsteadily, rocking and bobbing to some mute symphony underfoot. Bozer kept his hand on the couch as long as he could in his shuffle toward the source of the sound, only letting go once he realized he couldn’t hold onto the couch _and_ leave the living room.

Slowly and as steadily as he could, Bozer made it to where Mac was laid out, face-down on the floor at the kitchen’s threshold. A few paper towels and a fresh box of Kleenex made it onto the floor with him. Bozer leaned against the closest countertop before using it to guide himself slowly down to the floor next to his friend.

“Mac, are you okay?” Bozer asked. Mac made no move to indicate that he had even heard the man. Bozer tapped on the blond’s shoulder a few times. “Mac? Wake up, man.” 

Grasping Mac’s shoulder, Bozer shook hard, hoping the jostling would rouse him. But again Mac showed no signs of noticing Bozer’s increasingly more worried attempts to wake him up. 

Bozer’s fingers flew to Mac’s neck after the second or third shake garnered no results. There was a pulse there, thrumming strong but fast. Too fast. And he was hot. Bozer was no doctor, but he knew it wasn’t a good sign that he could feel the heat radiating off of Mac even through his own fever. Something was wrong. 

“I need to take your temperature, I’m gonna move you,” Bozer warned. He grasped Mac as firmly as his shaky hands would allow and slowly rolled Mac onto his side. He debated flipping him all the way onto his back, but figured that if he woke up suddenly, he probably wouldn’t be with it enough not to choke on his own vomit.

“Stay there,” he said. The blond wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Bozer knew that, but it made him feel better to talk aloud to Mac. 

Bozer moved as quickly as he could in his condition, arm against the wall to keep him on a straight path toward the bathroom where they kept the thermometer (assuming it was still intact). It was a small victory that Bozer not only made it to the bathroom without incident, but that he also found the thermometer tucked away in the medicine cabinet right where it should be. 

While in there, Bozer took the time to rinse his face off. A glance at himself in the bathroom mirror and he could see the sick staining his shirt-- he hadn't noticed before that he’d gotten it on himself. Leaning forward, Bozer rinsed the shirt off in the sink too. Only once he stood straight again did it hit him that now his shirt was soaked.

He peeled the shirt off, pitching it into the sink and leaving it there. It was hot, anyway. And it was just him and Mac there, he didn’t _need_ a shirt. Bozer rinsed his face off again, and, feeling a bit more human than before, went back to Mac.

“Mac,” Bozer said as he crouched next to his friend. “I’m gonna put this in your mouth now,” he warned, thermometer in hand. He stuck it in, waited for the little chirp, and pulled it out again.

That was bad.

Bozer cussed to himself. “Mac,” Bozer grasped Mac’s arm and jostled him frantically, breathing another slew of curses. “Hey, you need to wake up. Your temperature is high, like, _really_ high.” 

‘ _Calm down, calm down,_ ’ Bozer thought to himself, releasing Mac’s arm. ‘ _You know what to do. Cool him down. Lukewarm water… ice packs...?_ ’ Bozer took another look at the numbers on the thermometer, feeling his panic rising again. The bath!

Bozer stood and went back to the bathroom to run the bath. He then came back over to Mac and grabbed the blond under the armpits.

“We’re gonna move now,” he said. He began dragging Mac’s limp form to the bathroom; it was a slow, steady trek. Bozer wasn’t weak by any means, but moving Mac was a struggle. At full health, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have too much of a problem moving his roommate-- Mac was all limbs and lean muscle-- but bone-tired and feverish himself, it seemed a herculean task dragging his friend’s dead weight to the bathroom. Bozer had to stop a few times to catch his breath and his balance. 

Finally, _finally_ , they made it to the bathroom. Bozer leaned Mac up against the tub as it was still filling and waited, breathing deeply. 

Mac wasn’t doing good. He hadn’t stirred the whole way; his face was a ghostly pale, devoid of all color save the bright, fever-flushed patches adorning his cheeks. 

Bozer snagged the discarded shirt out of the sink and ran it under the cold water-- not too cold, of course. Once it was nice and wet, Bozer used it to wipe Mac’s overheated face a bit. He ran the cloth along Mac’s jawline and neck, moving tenderly up to his temples, trying to bring the fever down, even if only a little. The thing warmed up quickly; Bozer rang the shirt out in the sink and soaked it again with cool water. He laid it on Mac’s forehead as he went to turn the tub’s valve off.

“Okay, Mac, let’s get you in,” Bozer said. 

Bozer didn’t even bother with Mac’s clothes. Grabbing the blond again, he heaved Mac up by the armpits first, doing his best to carefully maneuver him into the lukewarm bath in an efficient manner. 

Water splashed out of the tub, spilling over the sides and covering the floor as Bozer manhandled Mac into it. The sudden temperature change had Mac’s eyelids fluttering; a hand flailed out at Bozer, which he caught easily. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay” Bozer soothed as Mac tried to wrench away from Bozer, barely conscious, if at all, and coming to fighting. Bozer patiently held the arm still, catching Mac’s other hand when it came too, trying to swat Bozer away. “It’s all right, Mac, you’re okay.”

When Mac had stopped trying to fight, Bozer gently let go of his wrists. Mac let out a huff of air, eyes prying open to only about half-mast as the water soaked his clothes.

“Uhhnnghh..? Wh’s gon’ on?” Mac slurred. “M’all wet.”

Bozer sat next to the tub and let his fingers run through Mac’s unruly hair, wet hands dampening the blond locks. He’d seen Jack do it so many times-- seen Riley adopt the habit occasionally-- and knew it was a sure thing to calm Mac down.

“Your fever went way up,” Bozer explained as he continued moving his fingers through his friend’s hair. “Had to get it back down again.” Bozer left out the part where Mac had completely passed out, not wanting to worry him. Though, Bozer wasn’t sure how much of what he was saying was even being registered in the first place.

The adrenaline Bozer had been running on to get Mac into the bath was all but gone. Exhaustion washed over him in waves as he sat slumped up against the side of the tub. In the back of his mind, he knew he should do something about his own fever, too. It wasn’t nearly as high as Mac’s ( _probably_ , Bozer couldn’t actually remember when he’d last checked his own temperature), but it wouldn’t do any good for them to both be delirious as their bodies tried to cook themselves from the inside. The tub really could only comfortably fit one person, unless one had the other in his lap, and Bozer was not in the mood to try to get in with Mac.

“Hey, Mac,” Bozer said, taking the near-inaudible hum from Mac as permission to continue. “I’m gonna get myself an ice pack from the freezer. You good to be by yourself while I grab it?”

Mac hummed again, glassy eyes not focusing on much of anything. “Feel r’lly good, how’re you today?”

“That’s not what I--” Bozer slowly eased himself up off the ground. “It’s okay, man. I’ll only be a second,” he said.

“Okay,” Mac replied, blinking slowly. “Where’re we going?”

“Nowhere,” Bozer said, patting Mac’s shoulder comfortingly twice in succession. “Just sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Bozer fought through the sudden lethargy long enough to get into the kitchen and pulled an ice pack out of the freezer; he grabbed a second one for Mac as well, and he wrapped them each in a clean kitchen towel. But just that much had drained him.

Bozer stumbled dizzily to the couch and sat down heavily. He tipped his head back and balanced one of the packs on his face, promising himself he’d just sit there for a moment, just long enough for the wave of nausea to pass. 

He would be fine, he just needed to sit down for a second, that was all.

\---

Jack was never really one to follow rules that he didn’t find made sense, or that would get in the way of him doing what he needed to do. On multiple occasions, like this one, speed limits fell under those rules. It was a miracle it hadn’t happened sooner, but of course, it was one of the instances where _Matty_ had given him a timetable to follow that he would get pulled over for speeding.

Jack rolled down the window as the officer approached, knee bouncing at the thought of the time that this would waste.

“You know why I pulled you over?” The officer asked. Jack didn’t say anything, merely clutched the steering wheel, knowing things would go faster if he just let the man talk. “Can I see your license and registration?”

“Licence is in my wallet in my pocket and registration’s in the glove,” Jack said. The officer gave a nod of permission, and Jack rooted around through the junk, old bits of broken cell phones he’d been meaning to take to an electronics recycling place, and random papers to find the desired documentation. 

“This your vehicle?” The officer asked as Jack looked.

“Yeah, she’s mine,” he answered, finally finding it. He snagged his wallet out of his back pocket as well.

The usual exchange of papers, a few minutes, and Jack was stuffing the registration right back in the glove compartment and sliding his license into his wallet.

“You were going sixty-five in a fifty. What’s the hurry?”

“Trying to get home and back on my break from work.”

“That right?” The officer asked. “What do you do?”

“Sell bathroom tile,” Jack answered. He was going to leave it at that, but couldn’t help it as he continued, mouth running away from him: “Look man, I don’t wanna be rude, but my kids are sick, and I really just want to get home to check on ‘em before I have to be back working. So if you’re gonna give me a ticket, can we just get it over with?”

The officer looked a tad miffed as he wrote the ticket. ‘ _Good,_ ’ Jack thought impatiently, ‘ _that makes two of us._ ’

Jack was sure the officer wrote up the ticket slowly on purpose, just to piss him off. But there was no way he could prove that as the two of them wished each other a good day, neither really meaning it, and Jack tore down the road once again, minding his speed enough that he wouldn’t get pulled over again.

Pulling into the driveway of Mac and Bozer’s house, Jack was still irked he couldn’t have told the officer off, or explained that he very likely had saved the man’s ass without him ever having been aware it was in danger in the first place. But those feelings abated as Jack opened up the front door, remembering why he’d been in such a hurry in the first place.

He stayed quiet, not wanting to wake Mac or Bozer in case they were actually resting as they’d been told to do. Jack didn’t have to search very long before he found Bozer, head tipped back on the couch with a half-melted ice pack resting on his face, and a second, just as melted pack sitting in his lap. He was snoring lightly, definitely asleep.

Jack noted that Bozer was shirtless. An odd choice for a nap sitting upright on the couch, in Jack’s opinion, but he didn’t judge. Poor guy must have been exhausted.

Jack shuffled a little closer to get a better look, but the noise caused Bozer to stir. Bozer pulled the ice pack off his face and searched for the source of the noise for a second with bleary eyes before his gaze fell on Jack.

“Oh, hey, Jack,” Bozer said through a yawn. “When’d you get here.”

“Just now,” Jack answered softly, crouching to be eye-level with Bozer. “Didn’t mean to wake you. How you feeling, bud?”

“Pretty crappy,” Bozer croaked. 

Jack gave Bozer a fond smile. “Well, nurse Dalton’s here to wait hand ‘n foot on ya ‘til I gotta get back to Matty,” he said. Jack took a quick glance around the room. “I’m assuming our boy’s in his room? Hopefully sleeping?”

Bozer abruptly stood up straight at that, the partially melted ice pack that was previously in his lap plopped onto the floor. “Shit! Mac!”

“Woah, easy now,” Jack said, guiding Bozer back down before he could fall down. “What’s wrong? Where’s Mac at?” There was an edge of panic to his voice.

“I left him in the bathroom,” Bozer said, wide-eyed and worried. “I put him in the bath, I must’ve fallen asleep,” he rambled.

“You _what_?” 

“He was really hot, I put him in a lukewarm bath to cool him off-- oh God, what time is it? I left him there for just a second and--”

“Bozer,” Jack said; he wasn’t quite scolding, but his tone was close, “what were you thinkin’, man? You should have called me when you realized he was getting bad. Especially if you couldn’t handle it on your own.”

“Don’t try to pin this on me,” Bozer said. He knew better than to be offended by Jack’s words, but he didn't much appreciate Jack implying that Bozer couldn't take care of Mac. He knew how the older agent got when Mac was hurt or sick. Nothing stood between him and taking care of the blond. But that didn't make the implications any less glaring. “I was doing my best, Jack. I didn’t just _leave_ him there, I went to get ice packs.”

“No, I know it ain’t your fault,” Jack said, running a hand over his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean that." 

Bozer nodded. "Don't worry about it, Jack." He understood, knew nearly just as well as Jack did how easy it was to want to protect Mac from the world. He'd felt it first when he'd punched Donnie Sandoz in the face and again when James had walked out. He felt when Mac had dropped out of MIT, and once again when he'd found out about the Phoenix Foundation. There were plenty of times in between where Bozer wished a swift punch in the nose would fix things for his best friend. He was just grateful Jack felt the same way. But they couldn't punch PTSD, or an absent father, or the flu.

"I should've called you," Bozer said.

Jack let out a little chuckle. “Nah, Matty wouldn't have let me come anyway. But I'm here now. I’m gonna go get him and put him to bed. You stay there, I’ll be right back for you.”

Jack grabbed a water out of the fridge, went to Mac’s room to grab some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom, making sure to give the door a courtesy knock before entering. 

Mac was still in the water, which by then had gone completely cold; he shivered in it, dead asleep and fever-flushed. There was water all over the floor from when it had spilled, and the shirt that Bozer had used on Mac’s forehead was floating dejectedly in the bathwater, having slipped off of Mac’s face at some point.

“Oh, kid,” Jack said, taking in the sight. He set the dry clothes and water bottle down on the countertop and went right to Mac. “Come on, let’s get you outta there.” Jack put a hand on Mac's shaking shoulder, jostling him a little bit to get him to wake up. His eyes cracked open but were hazy, not registering much of what he was looking around at. 

Jack leaned in close, wrapping an arm around the younger agent’s shoulders. “Up we go,” he warned before heaving Mac up. Even only half-conscious, Mac did his best to coordinate his body, clumsily stepping over the edge of the tub as Jack lifted him up and guided his shivery frame out of the cold water. 

There was no way Mac would be able to stand on his own for more than a few moments, so Jack sat him down on the closed toilet lid.

“Hey,” Mac said, a smile gracing his features as he slowly recognized who was moving him.

“Hey yourself,” Jack returned. “You up to gettin’ out of those wet clothes?” Jack asked. Mac bobbed his head-- it was probably a nod, but Jack thought it looked suspiciously like the kid trying not to fall back asleep. Mac made no move to undress himself, so Jack took the initiative.

Jack hooked his fingers under Mac’s shirt and began to lift it. “Arms up, brother,” he said. If Mac understood, he made no show of it, merely leaning forward onto Jack's chest and mumbling something. Jack could feel the heat radiating off of him through his own t-shirt, which had already gotten somewhat wet from pulling Mac out of the tub.

Jack tried to get Mac to lift his arms up again, but it became clear he wasn’t going to be much help. It wouldn’t be the first time Jack had to guide limp arms out of a shirt, and lift Mac up to get his pants and undergarments off, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Jack grabbed a towel hanging off the hook on the back of the door to dry the blond off as much as he could.

The whole time, Mac was only semi-conscious, eyes lidded heavily as he allowed Jack to thread his arms into a fresh, dry shirt and pull it down over his torso. If he was all there mentally, he probably would have protested Jack dressing him, but he was content to merely sit there and let Jack do whatever he wanted. 

Once Mac was fully dressed again, Jack pushed a thermometer in his mouth and rested a hand on Mac’s forehead. The thermometer beeped, and Jack took it out.

“When’s the last time you took any medicine?” Jack asked. Mac had half a mind to shrug. Jack’s hands came back to the blond's face, cupping the overheated cheeks in calloused hands; his thumbs moved down to his neck, massaging gently over the swollen lymph nodes. 

“That’s okay,” Jack said softly, removing his hands. He grabbed the water he’d brought and cracked the lid, holding it up to Mac’s mouth. “C’mon, why don’t you take a few sips for me, yeah?” 

Mac did as he was told, drinking a bit of the water before pushing it gently away due to nausea. Jack pressed him to drink a little bit more of it, so he did, if only to appease Jack.

“Good. All right, time for bed.”

Mac didn’t respond. Bed sounded nice, though. 

Jack debated trying to guide Mac there, but he was hardly even awake. Ultimately, Jack discarded that thought in favor of scooping the blond up in his arms instead and carrying him to his bed. Depositing Mac in the bed, Jack covered him up with a thin blanket (the comforter was not on the bed, Jack made a mental note to look for that later) and carded his fingers through Mac’s hair. 

Mac leaned toward the touch, and so Jack stayed there with him for a few extra moments before finally heading out of the room to let him rest. Jack made sure to leave the water there on the bedside table for Mac, and dragged the garbage bin close, just in case.

Jack stopped in the bathroom for the thermometer and cleaned it thoroughly before coming back to where he’d told Bozer to stay put. 

“All right, Boze, your turn,” Jack said, giving him the thermometer. The little thing beeped when it was done. “When’s the last time either of you took any meds?” He asked once he saw the number.

“Breakfast I think?” Bozer answered, “I don’t really know.”

“Well then it sounds like the both of you are overdue for some fever-reducer and proper hovering,” Jack said. “Let’s go, you’re goin’ right to bed.”

Jack helped Bozer off the couch and led him to his own room, tucking him in the same way he had Mac. 

“You want a shirt?” Jack asked as grabbed the garbage bin to place by the bed. Bozer shook his head. “All right. I’m gonna get you some water and medicine. You want another ice pack?”

“Maybe?” Bozer said, voice starting to sound farther away as he drifted closer to unconsciousness. 

Jack spared him a response, merely going to the kitchen, grabbing a water and two fresh ice packs wrapped in clean kitchen towels. He also grabbed the fever-reducer and measured out a dose for each of his sick kids.

He brought the things back, encouraging Bozer to drink more of the water, and helping Mac to sit up to take the medicine. By the time he had both of them tucked up and sleeping soundly, it was a good ten minutes past the time Matty had told him to be back by.

With a resigned sigh, Jack called Matty’s number. She picked up on the first ring.

“I know what you’re going to say, Dalton,” she started speaking immediately. “And the answer is no. You cannot take the rest of the day off to look after them.”

“Hello to you, too,” Jack grumbled. But fine, if she didn't want to exchange hellos. He'd get right into what he wanted, too, then. “I gotta stay here. They need me.”

“You haven’t ‘gotta’ do anything but get back here. You’re late as it is, whatever papercut has got you so worked up I’m sure is something they can handle, assuming you haven’t taken care of it already.”

Jack let out a huff of air. “Nah, Matty, you didn’t see them. Neither one of ‘em had taken anything since this morning.”

“And I trust completely that you got them to,” Matty said, her voice was almost soft but held her stubborn firmness about him getting back. “So they will be all right until the workday is over.” 

“When I got here Boze was out cold, completely unaware of the Mac soup that was cookin’ in the tub. There’s a bin of _someone’s_ puke sitting here in the living room, and there’s a comforter in the middle of the kitchen floor. I think it’s Mac’s, but Bozer wasn’t wearing anything ‘cept pants. Plus the bathroom is completely soaked like they hosed someone down in there. Matty, they ain’t okay on their own. I need to be here.”

Jack could practically hear Matty fighting it out in her head, simulating the argument that would surely follow if she insisted he come in, trying to determine the likelihood of her winning that particular argument. She sighed softly. It sounded like mind’s-eye Jack was winning the argument.

“I’ll have Riley drop off your unfinished reports once she’s finished for the day. I expect them fully completed and on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Do you understand me?”

Jack smiled. “Sure thing, boss lady.”

“And Jack?” She said. “Take care of our boys.”

“You know I will,” Jack said. He clicked the phone off, looking at the mess of a coffee table and remembering the state of the bathroom. He had some things to clean.

**Author's Note:**

> Didn’t make it into the fic, but I’d just like to say that I feel like Mac would be the type of person to call Gatorade by its flavor instead of by its color and the whole team would give him shit for it.
> 
> Also, I've never been pulled over (bc I'm a Sunday driver sdjsdkf) so apologies if that scene reads funky


End file.
